Ransom

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Oh, I’d love to know,” said Christobel hungrily, eager for anything that gave a shadow of hope for her brother.

  “Well, you see, we’ve been pretty hard hit during this depression,” said the young man, speaking in a low, rapid tone. “And we got behind in the payments on our house. You see, since Father was hurt, there has been only June and me to earn anything, and sometimes one or the other of us didn’t have work. But we managed to keep up the payments until about four months ago, when we began to get behind again. The firm I was with had to close out their business, and that left me stranded. I just couldn’t seem to find a job anywhere. And that very day your father’s firm wrote to me about coming to his office, I had about given up. Mother and I had gone into the sitting room and shut everybody else out and knelt down to pray about it. It just seemed as though nobody but God could help, and after hunting a job so long without results, it was hard to have faith that even God could do anything, with the state this country is in now—only of course we knew He could.”

  Christobel listened with rising color, feeling almost guilty that she should hear this intimate story of the prayer to which she had been an unintentional listener, but he was hurrying rapidly on.

  “You see, I was pretty well all in, and my faith was at a low ebb. I had staked my faith on an answer to that prayer, and if it didn’t come pretty soon, I couldn’t see anything ahead of us but utter ruin. But that was what made it so very wonderful. Just that night, within a very few hours from the time Mother and I had prayed and put it up to the Lord how desperate we were, the letter came offering me a job! Offering me a job, mind you, not my having to go out hunting and finding one at last, but it came to me of itself. And then, this afternoon, while I was praying in the few minutes I always take, it came to me that I ought to be doing something about our house, and I couldn’t take the time because I was really needed here while your father was away. And so I just put it up to God again and asked Him to look after your brother. And what do you think? Before I left the house the former agent called and gave us papers and told us the house had been taken over by a new owner and refinanced, and the payments made much easier. Why, it was just a miracle! Nothing less. And he said it would be all right if we waited another month before beginning the new payments. I can’t get over the wonder of it. I never heard anything like it in business ways before. It was just God’s doing, that was all!” Christobel beamed a smile at him.

  “I’m glad!” she said and then with a sad wistfulness, “I wish I knew God. I would like to ask Him about Rannie.”

  She turned away with a quivering lip and her eyes brimming over with tears.

  “Let’s go and ask Him now,” said Phil earnestly. “He knows you, even if you don’t know Him.”

  “But I have no right,” she said. “I haven’t prayed to Him, since, oh, a long time ago. A little while after my mother died. Things all went wrong, and I prayed and prayed they would come right, but they didn’t, and Rannie and I had to go away to school, and when I got there I stopped praying. My roommate didn’t pray, and she laughed at me for doing it, and I soon stopped. I thought it didn’t do any good. I thought that God didn’t care about me anymore. I wasn’t even sure there was a God. Most of the people at school said there wasn’t, only just a Force.”

  “Well, there is a God,” said Phil convincingly. “He loves you and longs to have you trust Him.”

  “How do you know that? He answered you, but He might not love me.”

  “I know because He says He does. Listen. ‘For God so loved the world,’—doesn’t that include you?—’that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ Doesn’t that sound as if God loved you?”

  “I suppose it does. But—what would I have to do?”

  “Just believe,” answered Phil gently. “Believe that His Son took your sins on Himself when He died on the cross. The moment you accept Him as your Savior, you become a child of God and have a right to come to Him and ask for the things you need.”

  “I’ve always sort of believed there was a God,” mused Christobel with a faraway gaze. “Mother, of course, used to tell Rannie and me about Jesus dying on the cross for our sins, but I never paid much attention.”

  “Well, this is an active belief. It is deliberately choosing to accept the gift of salvation that He bought for you with His life. Are you willing to believe that way?”

  “Why, anybody would be willing to accept a gift, of course,” said Christobel, puzzled.

  “No. Some people want to live their lives without God. They will not believe. They want to trust in themselves, or in riches, or in people—anything but to take the great gift God has given them.”

  “Oh, I would take it and be so glad,” said the girl, lifting sweet earnest eyes to his face. “Just how do you do it? I would like to do it now.”

  A great light came into the boy’s face.

  “Come,” he said, placing a hand on her arm. “Let’s go into that little room and tell Him so. We shall not be interrupted there.”

  He drew the silvery curtains behind them, and they walked the length of the great modern room and into Charmian’s smaller white velvet shrine, sheathed in white frost of lace.

  Christobel tossed the pagan silk doll from her cushion and there they knelt together, hand in hand, though they were not perhaps aware of that, and talked quite simply with the Heavenly Father.

  “Heavenly Father,” spoke the youth, “Christobel wants to accept Jesus Christ as her own personal Savior. Thou hast said the only way to be saved is to believe that Jesus died in our place for the death we deserved. Now hear her according to Thy promise.”

  Phil hesitated, feeling the quickened pressure of the girl’s hand in his, then heard her voice, clear and sweet as a child’s. “Oh God, I know I’m a sinner, but I do believe, and I want to be Thy child.” It was all as quiet and simple as that, but when they rose to their feet, there was a depth of gladness in Phil’s eyes.

  “Do you suppose He really heard us? Am I His child now? I don’t feel any different, Phil,” said Christobel wonderingly.

  “We aren’t saved by feeling, Christobel, and I’m mighty glad of it, because sometimes I don’t feel anything about it. We are saved because He says we are if we believe. That’s the test of whether we really believe, if we are willing to take Him at His word, without any feeling.” He reached his hand into his pocket, brought out a little book, and thumbed through the worn pages.

  “Read that, Chris,” he said and pointed to a verse.

  “ ‘But as many as received him, to them gave he the power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.’ All right,” said Christobel trustingly, “I believe that. So I’m really a child of God!” Her eyes shone. “Now I want to ask Him about Rannie.”

  Then down went the two heads again, and Christobel’s petition was like that of a trusting child that left the precious brother in the safe keeping of a true and trusted Friend.

  Maggie came trotting on her faithful old feet to hunt for her nursling, wanting to cheer the sad, sweet face. Her own was red with anxiety, and her Scotch blue eyes bluer than ever, blurred with tears.

  She heard low voices and pulled up a bit of the big silver drapery. Peering in across the great dim room, she saw the two heads against the white frostwork of the window, bowed side by side in prayer. She noted the two hands clasped together, she heard the bairn praying for her brother, and, dropping the silver curtain, suddenly turned her back, ducked her face into her gingham apron, and sobbed noiselessly, her faithful shoulders shaking for a moment. Then she raised her head and whispered under her breath, “Bless the bairnies!” and trotted away to her kitchen again to try and get something to tempt the numbed appetites.

  When Philip had gone, Christobel sought Maggie in the kitchen. There was a peace upon Christobel’s brow that had not been there an hour before, and the heavy burden seemed gone.

  “Yer luikin’ b
etter, me bairnie,” said the servant.

  Christobel looked up with an unexpected smile.

  “I’ve just found Jesus, Maggie, and He’s taken the trembling away. I’m sure He’s going to take care of Rannie, and maybe bring him back to us.”

  “I’m sure He will,” spluttered Maggie, quite choked up with tears and brushing her hand quickly over her eyes. “Yer mommie believed, Miss Chrissie. Her last words was, ‘I’m trustin’ Jesus!’ Just like that! An’ then she smiled and closed her eyes and was gone!”

  “Oh, Maggie! Did she say that? I’m so glad you told me. If I had known that, I would have tried praying before. I didn’t know she believed.”

  “Oh, sure, she was a fine Christian, just an angel lady she was. Why, don’t ye remember how she taught ye to say yer prayers? I mind oncet when Rannie, just a wee mannie, wouldn’t say his ‘Now I lay me,’ an’ yer mommie, she looked sair grieved, an’ she tuk him in her arms an’ talked sweetlike to him. Oh, yer mommie was one in a thousand!”

  “I’m glad to know,” said Christobel, taking a deep breath. “I feel as though it is going to help.”

  She stood for a moment looking out the kitchen window thoughtfully and then turned back to Maggie.

  “But Maggie, I came out to ask you if you would mind going up with me while I put away Charmian’s things. I think Father would be glad to have that done and over.”

  “Sure, me bairnie,” said Maggie, giving a final polish to her flaming face with her drenched apron. “Sure I’ll help ye if ye think yer equal to it today?” She gave the girl a scrutinizing look.

  “Yes, Maggie, I’ve been kind of dreading it. I would rather feel that they were gone.”

  So together they went up to the locked room and began to set it in order.

  It was Maggie who spread a sheet on the silk coverlet of the bed and began to fold garments and put them into piles upon it.

  Christobel forced herself to go among the dresses, picking out things she thought perhaps Charmian’s mother could use. There were several street suits and smart silk frocks in dark colors. One could scarcely fancy the frumpy little mother of Charmian in anything so sophisticated, but perhaps they would give her pleasure.

  Maggie folded everything neatly, advising and suggesting with wisely elderly hints.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what we’ll do with these evening dresses,” said Christobel, looking at the armful of tulle and taffeta.

  “You’ll not be wantin’ to use thae yersel’ sometime?” asked the nurse speculatively.

  “Oh, no!” said Christobel with a little shiver. “I would rather not. Besides, I’m not going into society. Father said I needn’t. Mother didn’t.”

  “Right you are, me lambie!” said the nurse. “There’s many dangers out in the world taday. Yer safer in than out. This world’s gangin’ all ugly! Well, why not sell thae clothes then? I know a lady sells in one o’ these secondhand shops. They pay wonderful prices fer dresses that’s only ben wore a few times. Some o’ thae dresses look like they’d scarcely ben wore at all. We’ll look out some suit boxes an’ fold them fine. Then I’ll send fer my friend, an’ yer poppie’ll be surprised ta see how mooch they’ll bring. Good money. I mind once I went with her to the shop an’ I see nice ladies buyin’ at big prices.”

  So they worked, sorting and folding and packing, until Charmian’s wardrobe was in neat piles ready for immediate disposal. Plenty for Charmian’s mother, a lot to be sold, and a goodly assortment to be given away, Maggie affirming that she knew a few people where they would do good.

  “And the jewels we’ll ask yer poppie aboot,” said Maggie, as she finished with quick hand and discerning eye, separating the common strings of beads and costume jewelry from the real stones and jewels.

  “He may like to sind a jeweler here ta look ’em over an’ appraise ’em. They’ll bring a-plenty if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I’m glad!” said Christobel simply. “Father may need a lot of money to ransom Rannie.”

  “Belike he will!” said Maggie, heaving a quick sigh.

  Then Maggie brought paper and string and boxes that she had somehow managed to locate in spite of her brief stay in the house, and presently Charmian’s personal property was all under cover and the room put in exquisite order again.

  Christobel drew a long breath of relief when they had finished. Somehow the spirit of Charmian and of death seemed to be exorcised at last, and she no longer dreaded to look around the room. It was just a room now, no longer a reminder of the tomb. Or, was it possible that during that afternoon even a tomb had lost some of its horror? Christobel went downstairs, wondering.

  No one ate any dinner that night, though Maggie had prepared a tempting meal. There was an influx of officers into the house, a hurried consultation in the library, and officers telephoning in different rooms where extra instruments had been installed. There had been a definite statement that a car answering to the description of the Kershaw car had been found in the river several miles below the city. It had evidently gone over the embankment. There was a body in the car, but they had not yet been able to lift the machine enough to be sure whether the man was young or old. There was a rumor that there were several young people in the car. And the late afternoon papers came out with wild headlines and suggestions of possibilities. One might have thought by these accounts that Rannie Kershaw was a man of the world with a wild record behind him.

  Mr. Kershaw and Philip went out with the officers very soon after the message arrived, the father with a white drawn face, and Christobel, after dutifully drinking a glass of milk upon which Maggie with tears insisted, stole into the darkness of the little white room beyond the great velvet parlor and knelt down beside the white velvet cushions to pray.

  There was only the light that sparkled through the lovely crystal blossoms from the street arc lights and sifted through the room like silver splinters. One fell across the pagan doll sprawled on the floor near the kneeling girl and lighted a curious dim picture, perhaps for the angels to look upon.

  So Christobel prayed while her father went to the river to wait and watch for what should come, and presently she began to pray for her father.

  “Oh, Father in heaven, let my precious father on earth come to believe, and to trust you!”

  Over in the library the telephones rang, the officers tramped in and out, and the dim empty rooms echoed words back occasionally across the great black and silver and scarlet room in the dark, but they could not hurt Christobel any longer, because whatever came, she was hid in the “secret place of the Most High.”

  And then there was a sound of a car outside, of footsteps coming with measured tread, and with one final cry to her new Father in heaven, Christobel sprang to her feet, with her hand upon her heart, and waited, saying over to herself that whatever came was all right, because God was doing it.

  Chapter 12

  But the man drowned in the river was not Rannie. So much was established beyond a doubt. He was short and thickset, and dressed in coarse garments. The car was not the Kershaw car, and this clue, too, had failed.

  Christobel felt a great joy when she heard them talking about it in the hall, but when she caught a glimpse of her father’s face after that long cold wait by the river, the wait that ended in the morgue, she knew that the heavy burden of her brother’s disappearance bore down heavier than ever before upon his shoulders. After all, death was better than some things, and the agony of suspense was perhaps the most terrible thing one could bear, especially when hope flickered and seemed about to pass out.

  So Christobel stole back to the white velvet room and knelt alone again and prayed far into the night.

  The next day a grim, silent, dogged determination seemed to settle down over the house. Desperate, that was the word that described Mr. Kershaw, and desperate Christobel would have been also if it had not been for her experience the afternoon before. She recognized that and longed that her father might find the Source of help that had been shown
to her.

  Quite late in the afternoon Mr. Kershaw came home with a stranger, a loudmouthed, flashily dressed, illiterate person. Christobel looked at him half fearfully, wondering if he could be connected with the kidnappers, if kidnappers they were who had taken Rannie away. But presently, as she hovered out of sight and saw her father taking the man from room to room, heard his loud exclamations of delight, and noted her father’s grim silence, she began to surmise that this man was a possible purchaser for the house, and in spite of her anxiety, her heart gave a little spring of relief. Oh, if they could get out of this house, which was connected with nothing but loneliness and death and horror! If there could be a real place called home for Rannie to come back to, how wonderful it would be!

  The man came back just before dark and brought a woman and two girls about her own age with him. They were showily dressed and went about, evidently gloating over the splendor of the rooms.

  This time Philip was present and went around with Mr. Kershaw. Christobel kept out of sight but not quite out of hearing. She could catch some of the exclamations and comments upon the different articles of furniture, and especially the lofty, condescending tone of the daughters as they endeavored to instruct their mother in modern fashions and customs.

  Christobel could see the weariness in her father’s white, lined face, the utter disgust at their remarks, and his quiet reserve unless a direct question was asked of him. She could see, too, that Philip was taking the heaviest burden of the matter from him, answering questions of the mother and daughters, explaining the furnishings that were not understood. Christobel found herself wondering how he knew some of the things he told them, Philip Harper coming from the shabby old brick house on Seneca Street. For there was an ease and grace about Philip that made him a good salesman now, and the feminine strangers were evidently filled with deep admiration for him.